SG14: Formation
by SteinUlf
Summary: After the demise of SG14, an new team is recruited.  Ranging from AFSOC to college students to British diplomats, the new SG14 is trained and equipped to deal with anything the universe can throw at them.  At least, that's the theory.
1. Chapter 1

**Stargate: SG14**

**Formation**

Written by SteinUlf  
>Beta Readers: Madre, IronRaven (Special Note: TSgt Writtenhauer inspired by a character of IronRaven)<p>

SG14-My take on the Stargate universe, this is technically an AU storyline. The main differences are that, in SG14, 9-11 really happened and the SGC is feeling the effects in terms of morale, budget and personnel cuts. They are being expected to do the same job with less. Further, SG14 is going to be a little more hard military. The Chain of Command exists, most teams are enlisted personnel, etc. SG Teams don't get to use P90s just because some guy in the props department thinks they're sexy. In point of fact, they'll mostly be stuck with older inventory or test units that the Air Force is done with. Supplies will be short, creativity will be required, because damn it, you can only strangle so many Jaffa with a shoestring before it breaks.

-SG:14-

General George Hammond looked around the briefing room at his senior staff. His G3 and G4, Operations and Logistics officers respectively, were grumbling about the new budget cuts again. His G1, Personnel officer, was bemoaning the loss of officers and men to nobody in particular.

"Jesus Howie, I know there's a war on, but they can't cut funding to _everything_!" Colonel Milo Meyers, Operations officer, moaned. "Afghanistan is not the center of the freaking world."

Major Howard "Howie" Tuttle shrugged. He didn't control how much money he got, only where it went after he got it. Short, wiry, bald, with soft features and a large nose, Howie was not the image of a military man. But he was a superb logistics officer. It was amazing how far he could stretch even the most limited of funds. Nothing he ever did was blatantly illegal, but his knowledge of rules and regulations was far too detailed for someone who worked completely above board. Which was why Hammond had worked so hard to hang onto the Major. He was losing too many of his best people as it was.

"Gentlemen," he interrupted. "I believe the last thing for this meeting was the new team assignments."

"Of course sir," Major Owens, the G1 or Personnel officer began. "Major Kirby has been moved to command of Team Three. Sergeant Pratt replaced Gibbs in Nine. Then there's the matter of Fourteen." Everyone at the table winced. Team Fourteen was their latest combat loss.

"We've lost whole teams before, but that was just…ugly." Lieutenant Colonel Steven Haviland, the assistant Ops officer, grimaced.

"I'd like Captain Redford for team leader," Meyers cut in, moving back to the original topic at hand. "He's just completed the basic offworld course and is due back from his first field trip in a few days with Team Twelve." Hammond nodded. Redford was a good officer, a former pilot who'd been transferred to the SGC after his squadron was deactivated. The man had flown the A-10 Warthog for most of his career.

"For security there's Senior Airman Astrid Ericsson. Security forces, and she's been to both Ranger school and Close Precision Engagement school and already completed the basic course."

"Okay, who else?"

"Let's see," Meyers shuffled the files in front of him. "Airman first class Jose Medina, medic, with team twenty-four before we had to deactivate it. Then there's Marcy Downs. Just graduated MIT with a double major in Electromechanical Engineering and Computer Engineering. Good marks in chemistry and physics as well. We'll need to move fast on her before someone else hires her. Next is Percival Williams."

"Why is that name familiar?" Hammond asked.

"Well, you've probably heard of him as 'Peacemaker Percy' Sir. Oxford professor turned diplomat. Got involved in the British Foreign Office during Yugoslavia. Emigrated to the United States afterward and worked for both Defense and State for the last few years." Hammond nodded. He remembered now. Percy had a reputation as a solid negotiator, honest and honorable, willing to work with almost anyone. However, while idealistic he was far from naïve and was reportedly fond of Roosevelt's "speak softly and carry a big stick" methodology. It was said that you always wanted to make peace with Percy or he'd send the Hounds of Perdition after you. During a particularly touchy negotiation one of the Yugoslavian factions thought it would be a good idea to take Percy as a hostage to use as leverage against the UN and British Foreign Office. The would-be hostage takers learned that "Peacekeeper" had a double meaning when Percy drew a Colt .45 Single Action Army, an antique revolver famous in the American West, and shot three of them dead. Nobody had ever tried to take him as a hostage after that, though he had been quietly dismissed from Foreign Office, which is what allowed the Americans to pick him up.

"If we can get Percy, do it. Anyone else?"

"Yes, Sir. The last one is Technical Sergeant Writtenhauer. He's…"

"What!" Owens's cut in. "Why on earth would you want that psychopath!"

"He's a good operator, gets the job done. Besides, he's a former Combat Controller. He'd be wasted anywhere else."

"Yeah, _former_ Controller. You know why he's getting the boot, right?" Owens persisted.

"Oh come on, like you haven't wanted to!" Haviland smiled.

"Would someone care to enlighten me as to why the Sergeant is being discharged?" Hammond cut in.

"Not just discharged, Sir. He's getting a bad conduct discharge. He just finished three months at Kirkland." Owens said.

"For what?" Howie asked.

"For attacking a news team from MSNBC," Owens stated. "He destroyed most of their equipment, broke a cameraman's nose, dislocated the sound guy's arm, ruptured one of the producer's testicles and threatened to shoot the reporter in her, and I quote, 'liberal lying whore mouth'. Then he accused them all of being a spies. He's dangerous Sir."

"There were extenuating circumstances!" Colonel Meyers protested. "They rode up on his team during a mission, unauthorized and unannounced. The newsies compromised their position and they took fire. It's amazing they all got out alive, thanks in no small part to the actions of Writtenhauer himself. It's all in the transcript from the court-martial. He called an airstrike damn near on top of his own ass to cover the team and only roughed the newsies up _after_ extracting them to safety. He may be an impolitic asshole, but he's good at what he does."

"So has he been discharged yet?" Hammond asked.

"Not quite, Sir," Owens said. "The papers have been signed, he's out-processed from his unit, but the discharge hasn't been officially filed yet."

"Good. Owens, get him transferred here."

"But..but…Sir, he's being discharged! We can't just…"

"Owens, that wasn't a request."

"But Sir, it isn't…legal," Owens protested.

"Sir, if I may…" Captain Hans Gerald raised his hand. Gerald was the SGC's senior JAG. Hammond nodded. "If the discharge hasn't been filed yet, but it's gone through his unit, we have a perfect opportunity. We short-stop the paper work at Personnel, then move it here. As far as everyone outside the SGC thinks, he's out. But technically, he's still in, if only just barely. We can use him, he's still subject to the chain of command and the UCMJ, and if he becomes a problem we push the discharge through without changing the dates. The records will show he's been out and working for us as a civilian contractor, say communication specialist or somesuch. It's about as illegal as legal gets, but it works." Hammond smiled. That's why he liked Gerald. He was a weasely little bastard who was very good at finding a way to get shady things done close enough to legal to make it stick. Hammond never wanted to be on the wrong side of the bench from him, but he loved having him in his command.

"If there's nothing else gentlemen?" Hammond stood and turned for his office.

-SG:14-

"Is it always that cold?" Captain Redford asked, shivering slightly as he stepped through the Stargate onto the ramp. Major Winters nodded. "Yeah, but you get used to it."

Redford stood a moment waiting for his goggles to de-fog. P3X something or other had housed a charming little farming community that the SGC had made contact with before. A nice, quiet little mission for a rookie run. He was surprised at how much he'd actually learned at the month long Basic Gate Course. He and the other trainees had been drilled in language, culture, small unit reconnaissance, alien technology, biology, geology, first contact procedure and a host of other things. Twelve hours a day, six days a week for thirty days, both classroom and field work. Yet when he'd actually deployed the knowledge had been there. Hopefully after the quarantine period, standard after a mission, he'd be assigned to a team.

-SG:14-

Mike Writtenhauer sat in an uncomfortable metal chair, wondering why he was here and why he hadn't just been booted out of Kirkwood when he'd been released. Instead, he'd been flown to what he was pretty sure was Fort Carson and hustled into this tiny little room to wait for several hours. He'd already picked the lock on the cuffs, but left them in place for appearances. No point in giving away the game.

Finally two Captains stepped into the room and sat across the table from him. He noticed one had insignia for a JAG, while the other only had rank insignia. The JAG set a briefcase on the table and opened it, seemingly bored. Well, he'd been interrogated before.

"Technical Sergeant Writtenhauer," the non-JAG began. "I'd like to make you an offer." The JAG placed a file in front of him. Writtenhauer scanned it quickly. It was his discharge papers.

"These are the originals, Sergeant. Now, we can push these through and you'll get a bad conduct discharge. Or, I can hang onto them, you work for me for a few years, and we'll see if we can't turn this into an administrative discharge instead. Now, I'm sure you're wondering…"

"I'm in," Writtenhauer interrupted, clearly surprising both Captains.

"Sergeant, you don't even know what you're getting into," the JAG said.

"Don't care. I know a black ops recruitment when I see one, and I'd rather get smeared somewhere in lower east kablamistan for king and country than try to make it as a civilian with a BCD on my record. So throw the hood over my head, toss me in the trunk, make unnecessary turns to confuse my ass and let's get going." Writtenhauer leaned back in the chair, a giant grin splitting his face as he laid the cuffs on the table. The officers had thought they were being all cloak and dagger and he'd gone and ruined their game.

"Well, Sergeant, I suppose that's it then. Though the hood is unnecessary. That's more the CIA's bag," the JAG said.

"Nuts. I was looking forward to that."

-SG:14-

"Miss, your mother would like to see you in the drawing room." Marcy looked up from her computer screen and nodded to the maid.

"Okay, thanks. Tell her I'll be right down." Marcy took a moment of finish killing the warg. "Sorry guys, I have to go," she said over the headset. She logged off the computer, set the headset down, and bounced out of her room. The little brunette bounded down the hall to the main stairs and then into the "drawing room". It made no sense that it was called that, since nobody ever drew anything in there. She would have called it "Mother's Interrogation Room", but she wasn't in charge of such things. She stopped dead in the doorway when she saw the two uniforms sitting with her mother. A small part of her mind was amused that their blue uniforms almost matched the upholstery, but the rest was wondering why they were here.

"Marcy! What the hell did you do!" Catherine Downs screamed as soon as she saw her daughter. She thought quickly, wondering if anything she'd done recently would have attracted federal attention. She didn't _think_ so, but after the Towers they may have tightened their net. She stepped timidly into the room, really hoping she wasn't about to be arrested.

"Ma'am, you're daughter isn't in trouble. We just want to talk to her," one of the men said. Marcy studied them carefully. Blue uniforms. Who wore blue?

"Well if she isn't in trouble, then why are you here?" Catherine glared at her daughter. The daft girl seemed determined to get herself arrested. Only the family's connections and money had saved her when she'd hacked some corporate database while she was still in school. Marcy sat down meekly next to her mother.

"Ma'am, we just want to talk to her," the taller of the two men said. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Redford, just cut to the chase. Miss Downs, we'd like to offer you a job," the other uniform said.

"What kind of job?" Catherine asked suspiciously. The government didn't just offer a job to a twenty two year old fresh out of college.

"Ma'am, her technical credentials and training could make her very valuable to the Department of Defense. We'd like to bring her in on a project." That brought both of them up short.

"I can't tell you much at the moment, but I can assure you that you'd be doing a great service to your country," the one identified as Redford said, facing Marcy directly. "I can give you forty eight hours to decide."

"Is it dangerous?" Catherine asked.

"Shush, Mom," Marcy interrupted. Her mother dropped into stunned silence. Marcy had never given a direct order to anyone, let alone her mother. "What will I get to work on?" Wide eyed eagerness was written large on the young woman's face as she leaned forward.

"You'll get to work on the bleeding edge of technological development. I really can't say more," Redford answered.

"Shiny! Can I pack first?"

-SG:14-

"Ah, Mr. Williams, good to finally meet you." Redford stuck out his hand. The man who took the offered limb was tall, just shy of gaunt, graying at the temples, and dressed in a comfortably worn tweed suit. He had a kindly, grandfatherly look to him. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Captain," Percival Williams answered in a perfectly cultured accent. "What can I do for the Air Force?" They sat and Percy offered Redford tea, which he accepted.

"Well, Sir, we've got this project we could use your help with."

"I see." Percy steepled his fingers and smiled knowingly. "And what sort of 'project' would this happen to be, Captain?"

"Well Sir, I can't tell you much, but I can tell you that you'd be doing your country a great service."

"Hmm. A great service from an old negotiator is it? Well, I can, as you Americans say, 'surf a desk' well enough right here. Unless this 'project' is more exciting than you're letting on." Percy's grin widened. The Captain was getting uncomfortable, as Percy expected. He wouldn't want to return to his superiors saying that he had failed in his recruitment, but he also likely had been ordered to reveal as little as possible. It would be interesting to see what Percy could drag out of him.

"Well, Sir, it wouldn't be for a desk job. We'd need you doing field work. You'd be studying al…foreign cultures."

Percy leaned back in his chair, considering the offer before him. Finally he spoke. "This 'project', it wouldn't happen the same rabbit hole my compatriot Mr. Glass disappeared down nearly a year ago, would it?"

"I couldn't say, Sir."

Suddenly Percy stood. "Well. You've piqued my curiosity Captain. I shall join your little adventure." He thrust out his hand again, which Redford accepted. "Leave the details with my Aide, would you? I must let a few people know that I shall be…indisposed for some time."

-SG:14-

"Ser, yew wanted ta see me Ser." Captain Redford wasn't quite sure what to expect when he asked to speak to Senior Airman Ericsson, but the tall, fire-haired Valkyrie in front of him certainly wasn't it. She stood in front of his desk at parade rest, her back ram-rod straight. But her eyes didn't rest directly ahead of her as many Airmen's would have. She sized him up just as he sized up her.

"Have a seat, Airman." He noted that her movements were smooth and precise. She still sat up straight and her eyes bored right into him. She wasn't tense, nor was she relaxed exactly. Just very…controlled. Redford opened her file and laid it out before himself. "You're record shows that you've recently completed the Basic Gate Course, and that you passed both Close Precision Engagement and Ranger schools. So tell me, Airman, why are you here and not deploying to Afghanistan?"

"Ser, Ah want ta go through the Gate Ser. Not guard some base in the arse end of nowher', Ser."

"Well Astrid, why do you want to go through the Gate? I see you've put in a request for transfer to an active gate team once a month for the past two years. Why does this matter so much to you?"

Astri Ericsson eyed Redford levelly; gauging what answer would serve her best. Finally, she decided on the truth. "Ser, mah Daddy worked minin' coal fer most of his lahfe. He tried te get inta NASA over'n'over, even as just a janiter, but they'd never take 'im. He'd read me Heinlein and Asimov and Clark befer going ta bed. He dreamed of the stars, always. And it got in mah head too. Ah studied hard in school, but we didn't have the monies fer college, so Ah joined the service lahk mah brothers, but Ah wanted a line job. Army and Marines wouldn't let a _little girl_ inta infantry." Little being a relative term. Few people would describe the six foot farmgirl in front of Redford as "little". "So Ah went fer the Air Force. Then Ah got assigned here, but they made me guard the base. Ser, Ah know Ah have the smarts for NASA, Ah just don't gots the education. But Ah got a chance here, and Ah'll do anything Ah haffta ta get through that Gate. Ta step on an alien world, ta seek new life, new civilizations. Ah want it Ser, mor'n anythin'."

Redford was taken aback. He had not expected something so eloquent to be wrangled from that Appalachia accent. If she hadn't already been selected for his team, he would have been sold now. This was the kind of person he wanted for his team. Someone who understood, better even it seemed than he, what the mission was about. He smiled.

"Well Airman, I have good news for you. Effective immediately you're being reassigned to SG14. We've got a few others to train up, and since you're already qualified, I want you to help them out." Redford grinned as he observed Astrid's control crack slightly as the side of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "That will be all, Airman."

She stood and slowly drew her hand into a salute. "Thank you Ser."

-SG:14-

"Hijo de puta!" Airman First Class Jose Medina shouted, tossing his cards on the table in disgust. He'd just lost four of a kind against a low straight flush and five hundred dollars along with it. "Un mas, un mas."

"English dude. English." Technical Sergeant Donnelly shook his head. Medina always went off in Spanish when he got excited. The kid was one of the medics on staff, formerly of SG24, and always hanging around the few PJs on base. The kid had washed out of the pipeline once already due to an injury during training, but Donnelly was sure he'd try again, even if it killed him. In the meantime, he had no compunction against taking the kid's money.

"Medina."

"Un momento!" Medina stared furiously at his new hand. The other PJs, grinned at each other. The poor kid had no idea he'd just blown off an officer.

"Medina."

"I said 'un momento', I'm busy!" He even waived dismissively, never turning around. The Captain stepped up behind Medina, leaned over his shoulder, and looked at his hand.

"I'd fold if I was you," the Captain said.

"Hey, when I want advice from a…" Medina finally looked at the newcomer and registered his rank. "…mierda," he finished in a small voice.

"Well Airman, I see I have your attention now," Redford grinned evilly.

"Si, Sir," Medina almost whimpered.

"Well Airman, one more incident like this and I'm booting you off team fourteen, comprende?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good day Airman. Gentlemen," he nodded to the PJs, who were all making a valiant effort not to fall out of their chairs laughing. Patterson failed and slowly slid to the floor, shaking in near-silent mirth. As the Captain left the room Medina turned to the PJs. "I am in such mierda." He hung his head.

"Kid, you realize you've been assigned to a new team, right?" Donnelly asked.

-SG:14-

"Oh, this is so cool!" Marcy beamed. She was at the heavy arms range along with Astrid. She'd gotten off to a rocky start at the range. She was a great shot in her video games, but in the real world, as Astrid said, she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn from the inside. But with Astrid's patient teaching she was finally able to reliably hit a man-sized target out to two hundred yards and scare one at three hundred and she could at least suppress with a machine gun Astrid still thought she could do better, but Marcy had never even touched a gun before joining the Stargate Program.

Now Astrid was teaching her to use heavy weapons. Not that she'd be expected to use them, but anyone joining an SG Team had to be able to use all the basic issue equipment, even if that only meant pointing it in the general direction of the enemy. Astrid had hauled over what Marcy recognized as a rocket of some type.

"What is it, exactly?" Marcy asked, picking up the surprisingly heavy tube. It had looked pretty light when Astrid had carried it over.

"It's an aye tee four shoulder-fawred laght anta-armor weapon. Good against laght armored vehicles and structures. Minimum arhming range is ten meters, maximum effective range is three hundred. Its lotsa fun," Astrid grinned and walked Marcy through how to use the rocket. "Naw, ye see that targit out yonder? Lawt it up."

Marcy hefted the tube to her shoulder and aimed. When she thought she had it she pressed the firing stud and rocked slightly as the rocket roared out of the tube. She grinned as she saw the fireball.

"Not bad if yew was trahing ta engage the hillsahde," Astrid chuckled.

-SG:14-

"Okay, so this wormhole, how exactly does it transport us?" Writtenhauer rubbed his temples in frustration, leaning forward against the desk. The sparse room had desks for about twenty students with drawings and schematics all along the front demonstrating how the Stargate itself worked. Writtenhauer had grasped pretty quickly the basics of what the thing did, it was the _how_ that he was having trouble with. Looking around the room he could see he wasn't the only one either.

"You have a communications background, right?" The instructor Lieutenant asked.

"Among other skill sets, yes."

"Okay Sergeant, think of it this way," the LT continued. "It's kind of like digital radio communications. When you send digital information over a carrier with frequency shift keying, you break the analog signal up into discrete information packets and transmit them. Then the receiver at the other end puts those packets back together and you get an analog signal out through the speaker. Make sense now?"

Writtenhauer looked like he'd just bitten into a rotten egg. "Oh that is just _so_ comforting."

"What?" the LT asked.

"So you're telling me this wormhole breaks us up into itty bitty pieces to move us from point a to point b?"

"Yes, that's right! So what's the problem?" Writtenhauer still looked concerned.

"Lieutenant, what happens if there's a bit error?" Suddenly much of the rest of the class looked as concerned as Writtenhauer.

"Well that doesn't happen Sergeant."

"Why not?"

"Well…it…it just…doesn't." She shrugged, not sure how to further explain the complex coding within the gate network that prevented such malfunctions.

"Ma'am, I don't care how perfect you think the system is, the only thing technology can be absolutely trusted to do is fail. At some point the gate is going to glitch. So what happens when that occurs?"

"Mr. Writtenhauer, Sir?" a small voice asked. Writtenhauer leaned back over his chair to see a mousy looking brunette raising her hand. "I think I can help."

"Its Sergeant, not Mister or Sir, I work for a living. But go ahead."

Marcy stood up as if she was presenting in class, looked around a little nervously, and began speaking. "I expect such bit errors occur rather regularly, Sergeant, but they're likely not to be a big a problem as you expect. Remember, the human body is an immensely complex system, and a single error is most likely only to destroy a single cell or damage a single strand of DNA, problems that occur regularly in nature which the body is well capable of dealing with." She sat down suddenly as she finished speaking.

"Fine, as long as I don't end up with some weird alien cancer and turn out like the blob or something."

-SG:14-

Colonel Meyers finished looking over the report on his desk, shuffled the papers back into their folder, and set it neatly down on the blotter before looking up at Captain Redford. "Well Captain, it looks like you've got your team trained up very well. Now, we're short on training slots and I know half your team hasn't completed the final training mission. However, the other half, including yourself, has. Further, MALP telemetry has showed a world that should be a fairly easy recon mission. We'd like to get your team fielded as quickly as possible, so I'm prepared to waive the final field trip. However, since it is your team I'm leaving the call with you. If you think your team is ready, the mission is yours. If not, we'll wait to schedule the others for a field trip, though I'm not sure how long that may take."

Redford leaned forward in his chair, looking eagerly at the Colonel. "We're ready, Sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**Stargate: SG14**

**First Mission**

Written by SteinUlf  
>Beta Readers: Madre, IronRaven (Special Note: TSgt Writtenhauer inspired by a character of IronRaven)<p>

Captain Steven Redford, USAF, looked over his team as they prepared for their first mission. The newcomers to the Stargate Program had just completed their basic training with the assistance of the other half of his team that was already part of the program. This would be the first time for half of his team through the gate, only their medic, Airman First Class Jose Medina, had been through more than a half dozen times. Even Redford himself had only been through once before. He felt a nervous excitement that reminded him of his days as a combat pilot.

His team seemed excited as well. Marcy Downs, his civilian technical specialist, looked ready to bounce out of her skin. He'd observed during training that she wobbled from very shy to hyper-excited with no discernable pattern, but she knew her stuff. Senior Airman Astrid Ericsson, his security forces airman, inspected her gear with a quiet proficiency. Medina was talking and gesturing dramatically to Percival Williams, his cultural specialist. Technical Sergeant Mike Writtenhauer, former Combat Controller and Redford's leading Sergeant, was discussing something with Master Sergeant Harriman.

Their first mission, a simple recon op, was to be to a planet called P3X-171. Telemetry from the MALP, the SGC's automated reconnaissance drones, indicated a world with a mild, if damp climate, and rotation similar to Earth's. Gravity was a smidge lower at 90% earth and the oxygen content was higher although overall composition was similar.

"All right people," Writtenhauer said. He didn't yell, but voice carried across the Gateroom and cut through the chatter. He could make himself heard clearly over rifle fire without resorting to shouting. "Let's get this thing unpacked and inspected. Then we'll do individual gear." "This" was the Field Remote Expeditionary Device or FRED, basically a giant mechanical mule built off of an ARGO off-road vehicle. It hauled around the team's extra equipment. Unfortunately, the SGC only had eight of them, down from the original nine and the teams had to share. There was a large amount of basic equipment loaded on each one, and each team added some gear depending on the team and their mission. And now Writtenhauer wanted to unpack it all.

"Sergeant, are you sure that's necessary?" Redford asked as the team groaned or otherwise complained. Only Airman Ericsson had immediately moved to comply.

"It's your call, Sir, but I'd rather spend the time now than be out in the bush and realize we've forgotten something." Writtenhauer stood patiently, his expression blank. He'd do whatever the Captain said, but he knew the right way to conduct a mission of this type, even if it was on an alien world. Prepare, plan and check, then check again. Writtenhauer had backups for almost everything.

"Okay Sergeant, we'll check the FRED."

Writtenhauer nodded, and then proceeded to supervise the inspection. It was a _lot_ of equipment. Partway through, he noticed one discrepancy. "Anyone care to explain this?" he asked, hefting an M240B medium machine gun. The official list called for an M249 light machine gun.

"Ah did that Sarge," Astrid answered.

"You're reasoning, Airman?"

"Sarge, Ah read the reports on the effectiveness of Jaffa armor. Five five six NATO ain't too good against it. Ah'd rather have seven six two. That's why Ah signed this ol' girl out too," she said, patting the M14 slung at her side. Unlike the smaller, mostly plastic and aluminum M16s and M4s the rest of the team carried, the wood and steel M14 also fired the more powerful 7.62 NATO cartridge.

"Makes sense, just let me or the Captain know next time."

"Will do, Sarge."

After determining everything was in order the FRED got repacked. "All right, turn out your individual gear."

"Mr. Writtenhauer, Sir…"

"It's Sergeant Writtenhauer, Marcy, I work for a living."

"Uh, Sergeant Writtenhauer then, what…what's _in_ that?" She pointed at the olive drab mass Writtenhauer was laying out on the floor.

"Stuff," he answered. The mass was his Denali chest rig. He started off removing twelve rifle magazines, three times as many as Marcy carried. He continued removing grenades, medical gear, water, binos, admin supplies and more.

"C4, Sergeant? Really?" Redford asked as Writtenhauer laid out several sheets.

"Of course, Sir. Always useful."

"Sir, Ah have some too," Ericsson pointed out. Writtenhauer then laid out his ruck.

"Oh my god, how much stuff are you carrying?" Marcy asked, staring in shock at the sheer volume of ordinance Writtenhauer had crammed into the Denali and ALICE pack. He shrugged. "About one hundred and twenty pounds give or take."

Marcy's jaw dropped. "That's more than _I_ weigh!"

"Sergeant, you wouldn't be planning to, oh, occupy a small country all by yourself would you?" Redford asked, incredulous. Percy just grinned at the spectacle.

"Sir, we will be god knows how many light years from home, with no chance of fire support, with a good chance of fighting numerically superior forces armed with anything from an atal atal to atomic bombs. I plan to be able to fight our way back to the gate and secure it long enough to extract if necessary. Or occupy a small country, presuming of course it's well supplied with beer and women."  
>"Well Sarge, Warlord Writtenhauer's got kinda ah nice ring ta it," Ericsson chuckled. Writtenhauer repacked and then moved on through the rest of the team. Again a few things were hammered out. Marcy had plenty of tools but had forgotten a first aid kit. Medina had skimped on ammo. Percy was still carrying his revolver, which Writtenhauer insisted he exchange for an M1911 like the rest of the team.<p>

Finally, after they'd checked everything down to pocket contents, Writtenhauer was satisfied. They repacked everything and proceeded from their team room, down the security corridor to the Gateroom.

-SG:14-

SG14 stood in the Gateroom, watching the giant ring as it spun. As soon as the connection was made Downs jumped as the characteristic "flush" lunged forward, earning a chuckle from some of the more experienced SGC personnel. The loudspeakers spoke. "SG14, you are cleared for mission. Good luck."

"I should warn y'all that haven' been through b'fore, this next bit kinda sucks," Astrid drawled, stepping up to the wormhole. She brought her rifle up to low-ready and stepped through. A few seconds later Writtenhauer followed, then Redford, Marcy leading the FRED with its remote, Williams and finally Medina.

Writtenhauer materialized on the other sided of the gate was immediately struck by two things. First, the clearing he was standing in was covered by green plants. Second, despite that, he felt like he was standing outside in winter at Eielson Air Force Base in Alaska. He felt the stab of cold down to his very bones. A moment later he felt his bile rise and nearly puked.

"Yew'll wanna get clear 'for the next'un comes through, Sarge." Writtenhauer looked up to see Astrid finishing a short walk around the gate. Though she was speaking to him, she was still looking out, staying alert. Writtenhauer staggered to the side of the gate a moment before Redford came through. He just shook himself and cleared the way. Marcy took two steps; fell to her knees and vomited, nearly running herself over with the FRED.

When Williams came through he shivered slightly. "Well, that was less than pleasant." Medina, for his part, had an enormous grin splitting his face. Growing up in New Mexico, he couldn't get enough of the cold.

"Why is it so cold?" Writtenhauer asked, flicking frost off of his M16. He looked at Marcy for an answer, but she was still spitting gunk out of her mouth. He was surprised when it was Ericsson who answered. "Ye get kinda squished goin' through the wormhole. Compresses yer molecules. So when yew comes out the other end, ye expand back ta normal. Kinda lahk gas, Sarge. Expand a gas quickly an' it gets cold. That's what happen ta yew. Also Sarge, Ah think we's inna swamp."

"Why is that?"

"MALP only takes a quick look aroun' the gate. But its onna bit of a rise here an' the groun' is still a bit squishy. Besides, it smells lahk one." Writtenhauer took a quick sniff of the air, now that he'd thawed out enough to smell again, and Airman Ericsson was correct. It did smell swampish.

"SGC, SG14, we're clear though the gate," Redford was reporting. "We'll be sending the MALP back through in a moment." He un-keyed the radio and turned to Marcy. "You okay, Downs?" She nodded. She'd finally gotten her mouth clear and had maneuvered the FRED off the stone steps leading up to the Stargate. A moment later the wormhole closed and Redford dialed Earth. Once the connection was made the MALP, back under SGC remote control, rolled through the gate.

"Well, what's the lay of the land?" Redford asked, looking around. Large trees and other vegetation surrounded the gate. Moss grew up on the sides of the steps, though the gate itself was immaculate. The smell finally hit him. Woods with a touch of rot.

"Place don' get much use," Ericsson remarked.

"What makes you say that?" Redford asked.

"Well Sir, there ain' no tracks 'er trails around. Besides that, it was quiet as a church when we got through. But iffn ye listen now, yew can hear critters startin' ta make noise agin."

Redford looked at her blankly. "And what does critter noises have to do with it?"

"If they was used ta the gate goin' off, they wouldn't get all quiet lahk when we come through, they'd just kept chitterin' away."

"Well, this is quite charming," Williams remarked, pulling his leg out of a hole. The hole had quickly filled with muck and now his sock was soaked.

"Uhh, not to alarm anyone, but what is on my head?" They all turned to see Medina looking very concerned as a large dragonfly looking bug perched on his helmet. The thing was about a foot long with a wingspan roughly twice that. Every time he moved his head, the creature buzzed angrily.

"It doesn't appear to have a stinger," Marcy obSirved.

"True, but I expect those mandibles would make for a nasty bite," Williams put in.

"Stop studying it and get it off my head!" Medina shouted.

"Ericsson, grab one of the large sample cases from FRED," Writtenhauer ordered. When Astrid handed the large plastic box to him, he removed the lid and placed it upside down near Medina. "Airman, I want you to slowly take your helmet off and place it on that cover."

"Okay Sergeant…" Medina, with exaggerated slowness, popped the snap on his helmet strap, then carefully lifted it off his head and lowered it. The bug twitched several times, causing Medina to stop, but was otherwise quiet. Once on the ground he backed away quickly as Writtenhauer slammed the rest of the sample box down over the cover, then buckled it shut as the bug buzzed around angrily inside.

"Well, I do believe we have our first sample of alien life." Williams grinned as Writtenhauer put the buzzing box back onto the FRED.

"Sir, I suggest we emplace the beacon, then move out," Writtenhauer said as he lifted the beacon off of the FRED. He and Astrid hid it near the Stargate. The beacon was a radio transponder that, when it received a signal from the interrogator still stored on the FRED, would reply with a radio pulse that would allow the team to determine roughly how far away the Gate was and in what direction. It was a backup in case teams got lost.

"What direction would you suggest, Sergeant?" Redford asked.

Writtenhauer pulled a compass from one of the many pockets on his chest rig and consulted it. "Well Sir, north is that way." He pointed. "With nothing to indicate a more promising direction, I'd suggest north."

"North it is." They stowed their rucks on the FRED and started off, Astrid on point again and Marcy controlling the FRED. She had it on follow mode, so it would auto-navigate and keep about ten meters behind her. Medina grumbled about the loss of his helmet.

-SG:14-

P3X-171 was definitely a swamp. Within a half a mile from the gate the land had sloped gently down and gotten wetter and wetter, becoming a true forested swamp. A quick chemical test by Marcy confirmed that it was at least freshwater, and didn't contain any harmful chemicals they could detect with their limited equipment. However, if they ran out of the water supply on the FRED and had to resupply with this muck, Medina had insisted on packing bleach for just such an occasion and knew the precise mix needed to sterilize the water but not kill the team.

They were all fairly well soaked below the waist. Once again they were trying to get the FRED unstuck. It did fairly well off road, and even floated when needed, but it was having trouble slugging through the muck. Ericsson had wrapped a tow chain around a large tree on a clear area and had rigged up one of the two come-alongs stored on the FRED. She cranked while Marcy tried to drive and Writtenhauer and Redford pushed. Medina and Williams kept guard.

"Come on damnit, MOVE!" Writtenhauer shouted, shoving the stubborn FRED yet again. Progress was slow but steady. Every shove allowed Ericsson to ratchet another inch or so on the come-along. Suddenly the wheels caught and the FRED lurched up onto dry, for certain values of dry, land. Unfortunately it caught Writtenhauer and Redford by surprise and they both plunged into the fetid water.

"Oh god, I think I swallowed some," Redford grimaced when he surfaced.

"Well, it probably won't kill us," Writtenhauer said, wiping his face off.

"Guys, something just touched me," Medina said nervously, eyeing the water.

"Touched like how?" Redford asked.

"Touched like mierde!" Medina shouted as he suddenly plunged under the surface, creating a ripple as he was dragged. The rest of the team took off after him, following the ripple until it disappeared as the water deepened. A single muffled bang reached the surface, clear indication that Medina had gotten at least one round off.

Ericsson stopped to place her rifle on the FRED, then tore off her LBE, also leaving it on the FRED, then dove into the water after the Airman. The rest of the team took up covering positions should the other two re-emerge.

Finally the surface broke as Ericsson re-emerged, straining against something. After plunging back under several times she finally got close enough that she could dig her boots into the muck that passed for ground, and dragged the dead weight of Medina and his gear the rest of the way to dry-ish land. She began performing CPR on the unconscious Airman. Finally he coughed, spitting up grimy water.

"Dios mio," Medina groaned, spitting and hacking. He rolled back onto his backside and looked up. "Hola chica."

"Airman, just 'cause Ah saved yer life don' mean Ah won' take it back ag'in," Ericsson scowled.

"So what was that thing?" Marcy asked, looking between Medina and Ericsson.

"Ah don' know, but Ah gots a piece of it. Lost mah knife though."

"Actually my dear, you didn't." Williams pointed. A pinkish-grey thing was still wrapped around Medina's leg, and Ericsson's knife was still stuck into it just above where she'd hacked it off of whatever creature it belonged to. Writtenhauer carefully removed the bit of creature and handed the knife back. "Well Airman, it doesn't look like its barbed or anything. It's covered in some sort of adhesive, which could be toxic, but I can't say for sure."

"How do you feel, Airman?"Redford asked, offering a hand.

"Like a drowned rat that got puked back up. Let's get moving before whatever it is decides to try again." He pulled himself up with Redford's help, then inspected his rifle. As expected, it had jammed. You weren't really supposed to shoot a gun underwater, but it had been better than nothing. Luckily the jam was a simple stovepipe and he cleared it easily.

Ericsson was already buckling her LBE when Medina put a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks." Ericsson nodded, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Any idea what that bugger was?" Williams asked as he loaded the thing into another sample container.

"Big," Medina and Ericsson said simultaneously.

-SG:14-

"Captain, I think we should set up here for the night." "Here" was a slight rise in the swamp, marginally dryer in that it had no standing pools of water. About ten meters by fifteen, the rise gave them enough room to set up something resembling a camp.

"Alright Sergeant. It's not like we've seen a Ritz-Carlton anywhere around here anyway."

Marcy drove the FRED into the middle of the camp, then, with the help of Writtenhauer, set up a camouflage net around it. Ericsson drove an entrenching tool into the soft sod to dig a foxhole and gave up as mud filled the slight hole. They ate a dinner of cold MRE, then Redford and Percy took first watch while the others rolled out sleeping bags and bivy tents.

-SG:14-

"This really sucks Sergeant." Writtenhauer and Medina had taken over the watch a few hours previous. Writtenhauer didn't answer, he just keep peering into the darkness tinged green by night vision. Strange sounds and smells kept them both alert. The air had cooled slightly but was still extremely muggy.

"Uh, Sergeant, I see something." Writtenhauer stepped around the FRED to stand with Medina. He looked where the medic pointed and saw eyes glowing in the dark. Neither of them could tell if it was two sets of two or one set of four.

"Well, that's less than comforting," Writtenhauer remarked. The eyes continued to stare.

-SG:14-

"Calm down Airman, it's just me." Ericsson relaxed her grip on the M14. Writtenhauer had surprised her awake when he tapped her boot with his foot and she'd awoken instantly, instinctively reaching for her weapon. "Your shift."

"Okay Sarge." She stood, donning her night vision gear. "What's th' situation?"

"Pretty quiet actually. That's been watching us all night though." Writtenhauer pointed out the eyes. They'd moved back and forth and disappeared a few times, but kept re-appearing.

"Any idea wut it is?"

"Creepy and alien. Wake me up if it tries to eat me." Medina rolled out his sleeping bag and started to doff his boots.

"Airman, if it tries te eat yew an' yew don' wake up, yew deserve ta get et. Leave yer boots on."

"What? Why?" Medina whined. He was tired, sore, hungry and wanted to just pass out.

"Two reasons, Airman. First, Ah outrank yew an' Ah told yew tew. Second, if yew had ta gets up in a hurrah, you really wanna take the time ta fuck wid yer boots? Keep yer weapon an' yer web close at hand so yew can grab 'em quick if yew haffta abandon the rest o' yer gear." When she slept in the field, Ericsson used her pack as a pillow, laid her rifle on her right and her web on her left and just laid the bag over herself without zipping it up. It wasn't as comfortable, but she could react very quickly.

"Sarge…" Medina whined

"Airman, what fucked up universe do you think we're in where you're expecting sympathy from me? Ericsson is spot on. Now rack out." Writtenhauer laid out his gear and didn't even bother taking his chest rig off, though with nothing on his backside he could lie down with it still on. Medina grumbled and complied.

Ericsson stepped over to Marcy and shook her shoulder gently. "On yer feet girl."

"Mom?" Marcy answered drowsily.

Ericsson chuckled. "Naw girl, jus' me."

Marcy rubbed sleep out of her eyes and looked around the gloom. "What time is it?"

"Time fer our watch."

After about half an hour Marcy remarked "It's so quiet out here." She looked over at Ericsson but she didn't seem to have heard. "Don't you think so Astrid?"

"Nope."

When it became clear Astrid had nothing more to say about that, Marcy tried a different line of questions.

"So why did you join the Air Force?"

"'Cause Ah did."

"Did you go to college?"

"Nope."

Marcy sighed in frustration. "How come you don't talk?"

"Ahm talkin' right now."

"You know what I mean! You don't talk a lot. How come?"

"First off, Ah don' see the point in openin' mah mouth if Ah gots nothing ta say. Second, if Ahm quiet, Ah kin hear what's goin' on around me."

"But…"

"That was uh hint Marcy. Yew make as much noise as a squirrel wid an acorn. Hush up."

A few minutes later Marcy spoke up again. "Astrid?"

"What?" Ericsson growled.

"I think I heard something. Over there," she pointed. Ericsson looked in the direction the loud girl indicated. It was the same general direction as the eyes that had been watching. The eyes were gone. Ericsson heard a soft splash and saw the eyes again, closer.

"Good job girl, now wake the others." Marcy scurried over to Writtenhauer and shook him.

"Sergeant, something's coming!" she squeaked.

"Marcy, define something," Writtenhauer groaned, reaching for his carbine.

"The eyes, Sarge, incomin'." Ericsson tracked the eyes with her rifle as they dipped below and above the water. She snapped her head around at another soft splash. "Second track, nine thirty, incomin'."

Within minutes the rest of the team was awake and taking defensive positions. They heard a noise resembling a rumbling burp as _something_ lurched up on the little island. Ericsson opened fire, tapping off two rounds and the thing squealed like a dying rabbit and dove back into the water. The next few minutes were a confusing rush of shouts, gunshots and bellows. One of the creatures wrapped its tongue around Marcy's leg and she screamed, firing wildly as it dragged her towards the water. Ericsson dove on top of the tiny girl and shoved the barrel of her rifle into the creature's mouth and slammed three rounds down its gullet. One tried to grab Medina, who ended up beating it about the head with his carbine while insulting its ancestry in a torrent of enraged Spanish. Writtenhauer fired into the flank of a creature menacing Percy who was busy loading a new magazine into his 1911. Then, suddenly, it was over. The surviving creatures retreated, leaving their dead and wounded brethren behind. "Así, córrele hijos de puta!" Medina shouted after them.

"Ericsson, check our flank, see that they're gone," Redford ordered.

"Lil' busy Sir." Redford turned and saw Marcy, shaking, and clutching Ericsson, arms and legs wrapped around the taller woman. "Sargen…"

"On it," Writtenhauer cut in, already checking to make sure the perimeter was clear. Medina and Percy began a field dissection of one of the creatures, Medina doing the cutting and pulling while Percy took pictures and notes.

The creature seemed to be some form of amphibian, with a large body resembling a six legged alligator. It had a short head with a very wide mouth with two sets of two eyes, positioned such that it must have excellent peripheral vision. They removed some samples to bring back on the FRED.

"Marcy, are you hurt?" Redford asked, kneeling down and digging out his flashlight. Marcy was still clinging to Ericsson, her face buried in the Airman's shoulder. Redford called Medina over. When he tried to check Marcy over she protested loudly and held Ericsson tighter.

"Marcy girl, its allrawht. Medina just want's'te make sure yew ain't hurt. Yer safe now." She stroked Marcy's head, trying to comfort her.

"No," Marcy protested. "Not safe! Monsters and cold and drowning. Not safe!"

"What's her problem?" Writtenhauer asked, completing his circuit and curious what all the fuss was about.

"The poor girl seems to be having a bit of a panic," Percy remarked.

"Sir, we shud move out. Critters are lahk te be along soon for the leftovers an' Ah don' know wut ta do 'bout mah lil yippy'yuk here."

Writtenhauer knelt down and manually turned the girl's head so she was looking at him. "Marcy. This is not the time to panic. The time to panic is back at SGC. Out here panic gets you killed. Now focus." Marcy whimpered again.

Ericsson was struck with a sudden thought. "Marcy, this is real import'nt. How does the Stargate work?" Marcy looked at Ericsson quizzically, shook her head slightly, and launched into a recitation. After a few sentences Ericsson clamped her hand over the girl's mouth. "Stop. Yew back wid us?"

Marcy shook her head again. "Yeah." She sounded surprised. "What did you just do?"

"Ah think Ah jus' rebooted yer brain," Ericsson grinned. "Now git yer rifle an let's git gone."

"Well that was…interesting." Percy frowned.

"Good. Break camp and saddle up. We're moving," Redford ordered. Shortly they were moving through the faint dawn light. Earlier than planned, as soon as they abandoned the camp, they could hear creatures investigating the new source of food slowly cooling where it lay.

-SG:14-

The sun was fully up now, meaning only dim light trickling down from above and a warm muggy feeling instead of a cool dampness. Not much improvement. The ground was slowly becoming more firm as it sloped very gently up. Now it was just squishy without pools of standing water.

Ericsson, who was on point, slowly stopped walking and looked around, frowning. Something wasn't right.

"What is it Airman?" Redford asked at her shoulder.

"Dunno Sir. Som'at feels wrong."

"Feels wrong? What, are you a freaking Jedi or something?" Medina snarled. The attacks, combined with the alien wilderness, had him very on edge.

"Shush." Ericsson closed her eyes and sniffed. "Sarge…"

"Yeah, I smell it."

"Smell what?" Redford asked.

"Smells lahk death, Sir. Kinda rotty meat and blood."

"How delightful. Our Jedi mountain woman smells death. I suppose it'll be 'Damn the torpedoes and full ahead!', though, since the only other way is swamp." Percy chuckled to himself.

"Stay sharp, stay quiet and sing out if you see something," Redford ordered. The team crept forward, sure of present danger but unsure what form it might take. Writtenhauer drifted toward the rear and Ericsson stayed on point, both reaching out with nose and ears as much as eyes. Marcy's pulse rocketed when she heard a twig snap, only to realize it was Medina being clumsy. He'd stepped on a clump of fluffy white growths on the ground.

"Medina MOVE!" Writtenhauer bellowed. When the medic looked at him confused Writtenhauer simply charged forward and bodily slammed the younger man out of the way, only to be hit himself. There was a loud bang and small, spiny barbs fletched with the same white fluff on the ground suddenly covered the top of Writtenhauer and all his gear.

"Dios Mio! Sergeant, are you all right!" Medina cried from the ground. Writtenhauer carefully stepped out of the white patch and sat down. In seconds the team formed a perimeter while Medina tended to the Sergeant. He carefully removed his helmet and inspected it. The barbs had actually penetrated through the Kevlar helmet though they'd stopped short of Writtenhauer's skull. The barbs had also penetrated to the fletching through the top of his pack. Luckily, whatever had launched the barbs, seemed to be highly directional as only a few had hit his shoulders and they had impacted and been stopped by his PASGT vest. If it had been a wider blast cone the Technical Sergeant would have been pin cushioned.

"What the hell happened Sergeant?" Redford finally asked.

"When Medina stepped on the white fluff, I saw what looked like a pinecone on the branch above his head start to swell. I don't know, I just thought it was some kind of weapon and the dumbass didn't get out of the way so…" he trailed off. "Ericsson, what the hell are you doing?"

Ericsson had pushed her rifle onto her back, stationed Marcy to keep an eye above her, and was on her hands sniffing around a patch of fluff. She stood up pulled her rifle back to her front. "Sarge, these is definitely what's stinkin'. Ah'm thinkin' them pods kills local critters to rot an' feed the tree."

"So it's a Venus…critter…tree?" Marcy asked. Ericsson shrugged. Writtenhauer carefully pulled a few barbs the rest of the way through his pack for samples and dumped the rest. When he couldn't pull them out of his helmet, he broke the barbs off flush with the inside and strapped it back onto his head.

"Oh my," Marcy giggled. Writtenhauer glared. "Sorry, you just…uh…look like a giant Q-tip. Well, if Q-tips wore cammo and carried guns." Once they saw it, the rest of the team tried to restrain chuckles. Redford even insisted on a picture, purely for research of course. Writtenhauer just glowered.

-SG:14-

"Clearin' ahead," Ericsson said as soon as she noticed a thinning of trees in front. They stopped a few yards inside the treeline to observe. Writtenhauer and Ericsson estimated the clearing to be roughly seven to eight hundred yards across. Roughly center of the clearing was a step pyramid approximately one hundred meters on a side. It looked to be unused for some time.

"Well then, this certainly is interesting," Percy remarked, lowering his binoculars. "I can't quite make out the markings on the sides. I should love to go closer." He looked hopefully at Redford.

"I don't see why not."

"Ah don' lahk it, Sir."

"Of course not Airman. And why is that?" Redford asked a little exasperated.

"It ain't natural."

"Airman, it's just a pyramid. Nothing to get superstitious about."

"Sir, I think she means the clearing was artificially cleared. And with the age of the pyramid, the clearing should have filled back in. But look, it's just bare dirt." Writtenhauer picked up a handful and let it sift through his fingers for emphasis.

"Yep. Jus'cause Ah think sommat's unnatural don' mean Ah'm jus a superstitious hillbilly, Sir." She picked up a handful herself, sniffed experimentally, and licked it with the tip of her tongue.

"Ewww!" Marcy exclaimed.

"Sir, the groun's been salted."

"With actual salt? Like the Romans?" Ericsson nodded. "Okay then. We're still going to check it out, but keep your guard up. Spread out and let's go." Percy took a few pictures and then they moved forward slowly, crossing the three hundred yards to the pyramid. The ground was dry and sandy under their feet. Once they got up close the ancient feeling of the place became more pronounced. The stone was old and worn but looked as solid as a mountain. Whoever had built this place had built it to last.

Percy began talking more pictures and muttering to himself. Ericsson looked at the structure like she expected it to bite her.

"This is fascinating! Look at the markings along the steps here resemble Sanskrit. I wonder what it says."

"Wait, you know it's Sanskrit but you don't know what it says? How does that work?"

"My dear girl, just because you recognize something doesn't mean you understand it. I'm sure you would recognize German or Spanish if you heard them, yet that doesn't guarantee you know the language. Besides which, I said it _resembled_ Sanskrit, not that it was. I'm sure it is a different language with a superficial resemblance only. I would love to get a look at the temple on top. Shall we go up?"

Redford nodded. They had to leave the FRED at the bottom as it could not quite handle the steep steps leading up the side of the pyramid. At the top they found four stone pillars supporting a roof over some sort of table. Surrounding the table, between the pillars, were statues of crocodile headed men, armed and armored, facing inward. The sides of the table were covered in writing and pictograms, which Percy dutifully documented. He quickly became absorbed in trying to decipher the meaning of the markings.

-SG:14-

"Dios mio! I'm bored stiff!" Medina whined. Percy had been working on the temple all morning, fascinated by it all, and had sucked Marcy in as well. Ericsson was still slowly patrolling the top of the pyramid like she expected an attack while Writtenhauer and Medina slowly worked the FRED up the steps with ropes and a winch. That had been two hours ago.

"Ah could shoot yew. That'd give ye somat ta dew."

"Gracias, pero no gracias. I like my blood to stay inside where it belongs."

"Sergeant, if memory serves, there is a crowbar on the FRED, isn't there?" Percy asked. It was the first time he'd spoken to anyone besides Marcy since lunch.

"Yup. You find something?"

"Marcy did, actually. She is convinced the top of that table there comes off, and I'm beginning to agree with her." In short order the team was heaving against the stone slab that Sirved as the tabletop while Percy and Marcy supervised. The tabletop was no mere slab, it had been carved with a lip to keep it in place. Finally a corner was lifted enough that they could slide the table top open.

"Jayus, that is a _powerful_ stank!" Ericsson's eyes burned from the odor and Marcy was retching.

"Yes, the odor is quite offensive," Percy remarked. From his expression he might have been remarking that the sky was blue.

"Smells like a skunk ate another dead skunk and farted, and then that fart had a little fart baby that died, and that's what we're smelling" Medina groaned.

Writtenhauer leaned over and peered down into the shaft that had been revealed. "I wonder how far down that hole goes," he mused.

"Ah expect it goes all'e'way te the bottom, Sarge." Writtenhauer looked up at Ericsson. He couldn't tell whether she was Sirious or pulling his leg. He pulled out a chemlight and dropped it down the shaft. It was deep enough that he could barely see the green glow at the bottom.

"Doesn't look like there's any way down," Redford said.

"I have an idea about that, actually!" Marcy beamed. "Hold on, just a sec!" After a moment of rummaging in the FRED she returned with a video camera and several lengths of paracord. Borrowing a chemlight from Writtenhauer, set the camera to night vision and tied the whole thing together with the paracord before lowering the contraption down the stinking whole. She let it dangle several minutes before pulling it back up.

"Okay, let's see what we've got." Everyone crowded over her shoulder as she replayed the footage. It showed bare stone walls as the camera slowly rotated during descent. At what was estimated fifty feet down, the shaft opened up into a massive room that seemed to occupy the entire bottom of the pyramid. However, instead of the tombs, treasure or artifacts that they expected, the room seemed bare except for some sort of fungus covering the floor and walls. It was all rather disappointing and anti-climactic.

"Well, whatever was here must have been found or stolen long ago," Percy sighed.

"Sorry Percy. Keep documenting what we can. It looks like the sun is going down, so the rest of us will set up camp. I'll let Command know what we've found when I check in."

-SG:14-

"Huh, whu…? Did I fall asleep again?" Marcy rubbed her eyes. Ericsson just continued her patrol after giving Marcy's foot a light kick to wake her. "Oh god, it reeks!" Marcy made a face and covered her nose. Ericsson paused.

"Worse'n before?"

"Uh huh. Why?" Instead of answering Ericsson walked over to the table and peered down the shaft. Even with night vision, it was pitch black past a few feet. But that few feet was enough to quicken Ericsson's pulse. She walked over to Writtenhauer and tapped his boot. He inhaled sharply and was awake.

"What is it?"

"Sarge, Ah think we gots a bit of a problem."

"Define 'problem' Airman."

"Jus' look here, Sarge." Writtenhauer got to his feet. Marcy was already at the table looking confused.

"What am I seeing?" Writtenhauer asked.

"The wrapper. Look." Lying on the edge of the table was an open MRE wrapper that Medina had left from dinner. "Okay…"

Ericsson groaned. "Fine, Ah'll use the light. Watch yer eyes." She fished a flashlight out of her pocket and shined it on the wrapper. The 'problem' became apparent. There was some sort of fungal growth filling the MRE wrapper. Ericsson moved the light, following the trail of fungus from the wrapper to the edge of the shaft and down.

"Well, that was fast. EVERYONE, ON YOUR FEET!" Writtenhauer bellowed.

"Dios Mio, this planet does not want me to sleep!" Medina protested once he was awake. Ericsson then explained the situation to the rest of the team.

"I'm sorry Airman, I'm missing something. What's the issue with fast growing mold?" Redford asked groggily.

"Sir, it ain't right. Mold don't grow that fast. Think 'bout the whole thing. We's gots a giant clearin' uh salted earth. A pyramid in de middle. An them statues, Sir, they's pointing in, not out."

"Okay…"

"Sir, sentries look out, wardens look in."

"Oh dear. How could I miss that?" Percy asked, realization dawning on him. "I do believe the Airman is saying this entire thing is to contain that…" he pointed at the growth, no longer sure what to call it. Ericsson nodded in agreement.

"Well, let's get a sample and cover this thing back up," Redford ordered. In short order they'd scraped a bit of the stuff into a sample container then scraped the rest and the MRE bag back into the shaft and moved the slab back into place. That done, the rest of the team went back to sleep while Ericsson and Marcy finished their watch.

"Are you okay?" Marcy asked a few hours later. Ericsson shook her head.

"Ah don' lahk this place. It ain't right."

-SG:14-

Something heavy slammed into Writtenhauer. Reacting on instinct, he grabbed the something, slammed it down hard, and shoved his pistol against what seemed to be the head. Only then did his brain catch up enough to realize it was Medina screaming "Get it off me!" It turned out be his sleeping bag in which he was entangled. With Medina pinned, Writtenhauer wrenched the stuck zipper apart and flung the bag away. Redford and Percy rushed over to see what the trouble was. The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon.

"What the hell is going on Medina?" Writtenhauer demanded. Medina rattled off in Spanish while pointing at his sleeping bag. Redford almost ordered him to repeat what he'd said in English, but when they looked at the sleeping bag it was obvious. It was covered in the pale mold. Only by mere fortune had Writtenhauer not put his knee or hands on the stuff when dealing with Medina.

"Holy shit!" Marcy exclaimed. The commotion had awakened the girls and now they were gawking at a pile of mold where Writtenhauer had left the sample container next to the table. Medina had simply been the first thing it its path after the container.

"How the hell? I sealed that!" Writtenhauer stated.

"I…I think it _ate_ the container," Marcy stammered. Ericsson was glaring at the stuff like it was pure evil.

"How?" Writtenhauer demanded.

"Did you use a plastic container or glass?"

"Plastic I think."

"Well, it must have either corroded or consumed it. Based on how much it's grown, I'm guessing consumed."

"Sir, Ah'd really lahk ta kill it please."

"By all means Astrid." Ericsson immediately slung her rifle, strode over to the Fred, grabbed a bottle of stove fuel and began pouring it over the mold and Medina's bag.

"Do you think that will work?" Marcy asked.

"Girl, most thangs die if ye light 'em on fire." Ericsson carefully lit Medina's sleeping bag on fire. The whole thing quickly caught, the fire spreading to the mold. Ericsson grinned as the mold began to sizzle and burn. With a flash the flame turned blue as the fuel burned off and the mold itself ignited.

"Damn, that stuff burns," Medina chuckled.

"It looks like its flammable by itself," Marcy remarked, fascinated.

"I have an idea. Captain?" Writtenhaeur looked at Redford.

"If you think you can kill it, go ahead."

"Ericcson, help me get that slab open," Writtenhauer ordered. Shortly they had the pyramid open again. The interior of the shaft was now almost covered in mold. "Whillie pete?" Ericsson asked hopefully.

"Whillie pete," Writtenhauer nodded. They each pulled a white phosphorous grenade from the FRED and dropped them down the shaft. There was a muffled double pop as the two grenades went off. Within seconds white smoke began pouring out of the shaft, followed by a loud "fwoom" and a gout of flame as the fire flashed.

"I wonder what people originally built this pyramid to contain…that." Redford waved at the hissing mass of blackening goo.

"Whoever they were, I suspect they're long gone," Percy remarked. "From this area at least. They easily could have moved elsewhere on this planet."

"Is it worth looking for them?" Marcy asked. The air had turned acrid from the burning mass.

"I suspect not at this time. I'll turn my notes over to the fellows in the archeology shop and see where that leads."

"Look, Captain, we can stand here and debate until the cows come home, but I suggest we pack up, haul ass, and figure this out back at base. We've still got a bunch of swamp to go back through."

"You're right Sergeant. Marcy, get the RDF and get us a bearing on the gate. Everyone else, pack up." In short order the Pyramid was recovered and the FRED packed up. Marcy was getting a weak but usable signal from the radio beacon emplaced by the gate. Terrain allowing, they'd be able to head fairly directly back to the gate.

"What's our bearing to the gate?" Writtenhauer asked.

"Huh. Almost due south," Marcy answered.

-SG:14-

"Oh, that's nasty!" Marcy exclaimed, spitting and sputtering. She wiped the remains of the bug from her mouth.

"If ye didn' talk so much, critters wouldn't be flying in yer mouth," Astrid chuckled. The team was back to slogging through waist deep sludge.

"I just want to get back and have a nice hot shower," Marcy groaned.

"Yer just not one fer campin' are ye girl?"

"I like camping!" Marcy protested. "This is not camping! This is…nastier."

"True. But tell me this," Redford cut in. "Would you rather be working behind a desk, or out here?"

"Okay, okay. I'd rather be doing this." The team was now chest deep in swamp. Poor Marcy was in it to her shoulders and hoisting her M4 over her head.

"Hey Astrid? Do you feel a current?" Medina asked suddenly.

"Naw, why?"

"Well, there's this log following us. I don't think it's a log." Medina pointed at the "log". It was more or less pacing them and looked for all the world like a log.

"Fuck it." Writtenhauer lobbed a 40mm grenade at the log, figuring that whatever nasty piece of local fauna it might be, he wanted to deal with it quickly and decisively. The grenade impacted directly on target, erupting an a gout of water and gore as the "log" shuddered. It arched, water sheeting off, revealing a long toothy jaw bellowing in pain. It slammed back into the water, sending waves of fetid slime over the team. The beast resembled nothing more that the six legged, larger, angrier cousin to a Komodo. It swung its head towards the team and howled.

"Okay, that may not have been the smartest thing I've ever done." Writtenhauer was quickly but calmly reloading his M203. Ericsson was already tracking with her rifle.

"Sergeant, Airman, covering fire. Percy, Marcy, beat feet. Medina, with me. We'll leapfrog back with Writtenhaur and Ericsson. Move!" They rushed away from the beast while Writtenhauer and Ericsson lit the thing up. Redford and Medina stopped to cover the other two while they fell back. The beast slammed down in front of Medina, bellowing, knocking him aside. Then its head exploded. Medina stared at the smoking brain cavity in confusion. He turned as he heard a whoop from Marcy and the situation became clear. She was shouting in victory and hefting an expended AT4 tube over her head.

"Damn girl!" Ericsson thumped Marcy on the back.

"What, dear girl, possessed you to use the rocket?" Percy asked.

"Well, Writtenhauer shot it with the two oh three and that just pissed it off, so I thought maybe if I shot it with something bigger, and they were just sitting there on Fred, so…"

"That was some good thinking. Uh, Ericsson, what are you doing?" Redford asked as Ericsson started wrapping tow chain around the beast's neck.

"Ah think we're almost at the Gate, Sir. It'd make a good sample."

-SG:14-

"Sir, we have an incoming wormhole!" the duty NCO shouted. He was already keying the iris closed.

"ID code?" the Duty Officer asked, lowering his coffee.

"Standby… SG Fourteen. Opening iris and sending ID confirmation now." A minute later Percy staggered through the gate, followed by Medina, Marcy and the FRED. Redford, Ericsson and Writtenhauer brought up the rear.

The Duty Officer picked up a handset and keyed it for the gateroom. "Welcome back Fourteen. Now, what the hell is that thing?"

"Dunno. Tried ta eat Marcy though!" Astrid answered. "Thought we'd see haw it tasted barbequed!"

"Good lord. This is what we get for sending hillbillies to alien planets."


End file.
